


the nap chair

by gabrielledarling



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Awkwardness, Bets, M/M, SO MUCH AWKWARD, Shy Grantaire, it's ok we love her anyway, Éponine has zero manners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 01:58:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17819657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabrielledarling/pseuds/gabrielledarling
Summary: “It's on," Éponine said. “You asking or me?”Grantaire stared at her. “Éponine, we can’t—we can’t just ask him if he’s gay or not.”Éponine raised a pierced eyebrow. “Why not?”“Didn't your parents teach you about basic human decency?” Éponine opened her mouth, but before she could answer, Grantaire said, “Don’t answer that."





	the nap chair

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the real Nap Chair in the coffee shop where I work and the customers my coworkers and I lust after on a daily basis.

There was an angel sleeping in The Nap Chair.

“We need to get rid of that goddamn chair,” Éponine said to Grantaire in a tone of voice that could only be construed as world-weary. She wiped her hands on her apron. “It's an occupational hazard. I’m sick of dragging old guys out of it when we close. It’s not in my job description.”

“Neither is being an asshole to the customers, but you’re perfectly happy doing that,” Grantaire said.

Éponine flipped him off. Grantaire set down the pitcher of cream he'd been filling and stood on his toes again, peeking over the espresso machines at the blond guy asleep in the armchair in the corner of the coffee shop. He was the only customer left. He had pointed, statuesque features, a high forehead, and a sharp nose. In short, he was the most gorgeous creature Grantaire had ever seen.

Grantaire turned back to Éponine and gestured incredulously at the chair. “You wanna kick _that_ out?”

Éponine, tall enough to see over the espresso machines, looked, and her eyes widened. “Ooh. He’s _gorgeous_. And young! God, how'd I miss that face?”

Grantaire snorted. “Oh, please. He _so_ plays for my team.”

“No way.”

Grantaire coughed. “Gay.”

“Straight."

“Gay.”

"How can you even tell when he's sleeping?"

"Gaaaaaaaay."

“Straight!"

Grantaire reached around Éponine and swiped the little jar on the counter. It was packed to overflowing with one-dollar bills and change. “I bet you tonight’s tips he’s gay. Or at least into guys in some way, shape, or form.”

Éponine, steely-faced, held out a hand. Grantaire shook it. “It's on," Éponine said. “You asking or me?”

Grantaire stared at her. “Éponine, we can’t—we can’t just ask him if he’s gay or not.”

Éponine raised a pierced eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Didn't your parents teach you about basic human decency?” Éponine opened her mouth, but before she could answer, Grantaire said, “Don’t answer that."

Éponine sighed. “So, if we’re not gonna ask him...?”

“Easy,” Grantaire said. “You ask him out on a date. If he’s gay, he’ll say so.”

Éponine’s jaw dropped. “What? Why me?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “You’re hot. No straight guy would say no to you.”

“Oh my god,” Éponine said, holding up both hands, fingers heavy with rings. “We need a witness. I need somebody besides me to remember that Grantaire admitted I’m hot.”

“I take it back."

“Then you’re asking him out,” Éponine said, crossing her arms.

“Me? No.”

“It was your idea!”

“So?”

"You're the one who's so convinced he's gay! You ask!"

"Me asking him out will prove nothing," Grantaire proclaimed. "Even if I were the last guy in the world, _that_ ," he gestured to the angel, "wouldn't go for _this_."

“Shh!" Éponine hissed, eyes suddenly wide. "We’re going to wake him up!”

Grantaire peeked back over the espresso machines.  _Phew_. The angel was still there, sleeping. _And drooling_ , he noticed with a jolt. _Adorable_.

From behind him, Éponine groan-sighed. "You know what? Fine. Fine, I'll do it. We're gonna be in a fuckton of trouble if we close late again, anyway."

Grantaire resisted the urge to fist-pump. He peered over the espresso machines as Éponine sauntered over to the chair, balling up her apron in her fist as she went. She approached the man, bent down, and jostled his shoulder lightly. The man _jumped_ , hands scrambling for purchase on the chair’s armrests, eyes blown wide. Even from behind the counter, Grantaire caught an astonishing blue.

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” he said, and then proceeded to apologize again. And again.

“It’s fine,” Éponine said, and if she could’ve seen him, Grantaire would have mimed throwing up at her sultry tone. “We’re just closing up. Thought I’d wake you before you got locked inside.”

Apparently, Angel-Man was still half-asleep, because he didn’t laugh. Instead, he just stared, eyes wide. Grantaire sighed internally. He knew that expression: the man was dazzled by Éponine.

"I'll get out of your hair," he said finally, and stood, grabbing his jacket.

"So, I haven't seen you in here before," Éponine tried.

"I've never been here before," the angel said, slinging a backpack over his shoulder. "I didn't mean to fall asleep. I'm not—I don't usually do stuff like that."

He was rambling. It was adorable, and Grantaire suddenly wanted to die. If he wasn't so shy, that could be _him_ out there, chatting up the blond, ambiguously-sexually-oriented angel.

"Hey, it's cool," Éponine said. "Did you get a drink? I came up with most of them."

The man squinted, clearly trying to recall a memory. "Yeah, I did. Something like...a detective?"

Éponine's eyes went wide. "A Sherlock Holmes? God, that's ambitious for a first-timer."

Angel-Man shrugged, a stray, blond curl falling over his shoulder. Grantaire wanted to twist it around his finger. "I liked it," he said. "What was in it?"

Éponine counted the ingredients on her fingers. "Drip coffee, three shots of espresso, white chocolate syrup, espresso whip. I made it up myself."

"You're good," the guy said, smiling.

Éponine grinned back, and Grantaire wanted to die all over again. "Thanks," she said. "Hey, you wanna go out with me sometime?"

There was a moment of silence. No; two moments. Three. The silence stretched on interminably as Angel-Man stared at Éponine. Grantaire held his breath—and then, the impossible.

“Oh. I, uh...I’m sorry, you seem like a really kind person, but I’m not really into girls."

_No. Fucking. Way._

"Wait, seriously?" Éponine echoed his thoughts, dropping the sultry tone. "You're into men? Dudes? Male humans?"

Angel-Man just stared at her. "Um. Yes?"

 _Yes_! Grantaire echoed silently. _HE'S GAY. GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY._ He resisted the urge to jump up and down and cheer.

“Goddamn it,” Éponine said, crossing her arms.

Grantaire watched the guy’s eyebrows furrow. “Excuse me?” 

Éponine shook her head. “No, I don’t have a problem with it.  I just lost a bet,” she said, glancing back at Grantaire.

Cheeks flushing, the latter immediately dropped out of sight behind the espresso machines.

There was silence. Apparently, the guy didn’t know what to say to that.

(Grantaire didn’t blame him.)

“He’s back there, hiding,” he heard Éponine—thetraitor—say.

“Who?”

Éponine's voice rose in volume. “Grantaire, get out here!" And then, regular volume: "I’ll introduce you.”

Grantaire stepped out from behind the counter, face flaming. “Hi,” he said, waving lamely. “Sorry.”

The angel's eyes—if it was even possible—widened further. They were pools of blue. “Hi.”

“I’ll go get your tips,” Éponine grumbled, turning away from the guy.

Grantaire resisted the urge to grab Éponine as she passed and hold her in front of him like a human shield. He stepped forward again, and, not to be outdone, the guy stood up.

Grantaire stuck out a hand. “I'm Grantaire. And I’m sorry.”

The guy—to Grantaire's discomfort—didn’t shake it. “What for?”

“We made a bet,” Grantaire said, letting his hand drop after a second of holding it out. “Uh, my coworker and I. It seemed...I don't know, funny, at the time, but now it just seems rude."

“What was the bet?”

Grantaire could feel the heat on his cheeks. He could've fried an egg on his face. “Um. I bet her you were gay? And she was hoping you weren’t. She wasn’t really supposed to tell you about it.”

Surprisingly, the guy didn't look pissed. Slightly irritated, maybe, but not angry. In fact, if Grantaire had to put a word to it, he'd say the guy looked curious. “Yeah, I wouldn’t necessarily be proud of that.”

Grantaire shook his head. “I’m sorry. Seriously. I’ll never serve your coffee again, if you don’t want me to. I’ll get someone else to do it when you come in. I’ll stay in the back. Seriously, you won’t ever have to to see...me. Um?"

Instead of replying or getting angry, the man was holding out his hand. If Grantaire had looked closely, he would’ve spotted the tiny spheres of pink on the angel's cheeks. “I’m Enjolras."

Flummoxed, Grantaire shook it. “Grantaire.”

“Yeah, it says so on your name tag,” Enjolras said, the tiniest hint of a smile showing on his face. He had dimples. Dimples. As if the guy needed any more help being adorable.

“Oh,” Grantaire said stupidly.

“So, I’m, uh…guessing you’re gay, too, then?”

Grantaire shook his head, and Enjolras looked affronted. Grantaire hurried to correct the misunderstanding: “I'm bisexual.”

“Oh,” Enjolras said, relief showing on his face.

“Yeah, that bet would’ve been kind of a dick move if I wasn’t into—into guys.” He’d stopped before the words “into you,” could come out of his mouth, but Enjolras looked like he’d gotten the memo. Damn Grantaire and his transparent expressions.

“So you guys were just watching me sleep? That’s not creepy," Enjolras said, sarcastic. Still, there was the hint of a smile on his face.

“Well, you're not really supposed to be sleeping in here."

Enjolras looked sheepish. “Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. I was just really tired. And that chair is so comfortable. Like, the most comfortable chair I've ever sat in. What's up with that?"

Grantaire laughed. “Yeah, we call it The Nap Chair. All these old guys fall asleep in it and we have to kick them out when we close the shop."

Enjolras made a face. “You let me sleep in the old guy chair?”

“The Nap Chair,” Grantaire corrected. “Hey, you were really out of it. Those espresso machines are loud—I’m not sure we could’ve stopped you.”

Enjolras scratched the back of his head, smiling sheepishly, and a strand of curly, blond hair fell into his eyes. "I've got, uh, finals. I'm not usually like this. I don't usually...fall asleep in Nap Chairs."

Grantaire grinned. There was a moment of silence wherein Enjolras smiled, and Grantaire smiled, and the air was charged with something, until—

"Here," Éponine said, dropping a bag into his hands. "Your reward."

She'd appeared out of nowhere, and she was gone just as quickly. Grantaire opened the bag. Inside was a wad of one-dollar bills.

He was going to kill Éponine.

"I, um," Grantaire said, looking up at Enjolras, awkward with the reminder of how they'd met. "Sorry."

"You were right," Enjolras said, shrugging.

"Guess so," Grantaire said.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," came Éponine's voice from behind the espresso machines. "Ask him out. I did it, Grantaire, you can do it."

Grantaire turned back to Enjolras, hoping his face wasn't as red as it felt.

Luckily, Enjolras was much smoother than Grantaire. He gestured to the bag. "Why don't we put that toward our first date?"

Grantaire's jaw dropped.

"Say yes, Grantaire," came Éponine's voice.

Grantaire gulped. "Okay."

Enjolras smiled and grabbed the bag. "I'll take that. And I'll be here tomorrow, same time? You get off at nine?"

Grantaire could only nod. With that, Enjolras turned around and walked out the door.

The bell tinkled, and Grantaire turned back to Éponine.

"That did not just happen," Éponine said. "I did not just witness that."

Grantaire was grinning. "We are never getting rid of that stupid chair."

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment if you liked it, have a suggestion, or if you just want to say hi! Comments are my lifeblood.


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